


We Can Help Each Other Through This

by stellalunalovegood



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Epilogue, F/F, Healing, High School, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:38:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellalunalovegood/pseuds/stellalunalovegood
Summary: Veronica Sawyer is living in a constant underwater thunderstorm after J.D. nearly decimated Westerberg at last week's pep rally until a ray of sunshine named Heather McNamara infiltrates her raincloud. Heather and Veronica may need each other to get through the rest of senior year.





	

**Author's Note:**

> More characters will probably come into play later.  
> Thank you for reading! I appreciate feedback on what you liked and what could be better.

Ch 1

The blackboard came in and out of focus while Veronica tried to pay attention to what Mr. Harrold was saying about the Normandy invasion. She normally liked history, but she hadn’t been able to concentrate on any of her classes since Heather Chandler crashed through her coffee table. Her thoughts were haunted by the ghost of JD. And Kurt. And Ram. And Heather. Oh God, how was it even possible that she was responsible for the deaths of four of her classmates? Yes, they had all been terrible people, but they were seventeen for fuck’s sake, who hasn’t done terrible things when they were seventeen? They should have been able to change and grow and become decent human beings. 

Veronica was dragged back into the present by the ringing bell and the hoards of teenagers it had awoken from a stupor of boredom. It was as if they had returned from the dead (sans the four students who actually were dead). Veronica hated remembering that they very well could all be corpses right now, and focused her thoughts on the definitively un-corpselike mob. Students who had been practically comatose moments before became vivacious at the prospect of the weekend, chattering with friends about hamburger joints and movie theaters and houses temporarily without parents. Veronica was swept through the sea of students still in a cloud of fog. She couldn’t escape the guilt of her dead classmates but at least she could escape the constant chaos of Westerberg High. She had no expectations of enjoying her weekend but she preferred to feel bad in the comfort of her own down comforter. 

“Veronica,” 

She was so out of synch with the world she barely registered her friend standing right in front of her.

“Hello, Heather,” Veronica said without much thought.

Heather Mcnamara, the least terrible of Veronica’s best friends, moved out of the way as Veronica reached past her to open her locker. 

“I’m sorry, but you’ve been looking pretty bad this week,” Heather said.

“Gee, thanks,” Veronica replied.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Heather said, “I’m worried about you.”

Veronica looked at Heather with more than a trace of bitterness, “I’m fine.”

Heather’s brow creased, “No, you’re not. You’ve been wandering through school like a zombie since the pep rally, and I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing you’ve done except maybe wander from your bedroom to the kitchen like a zombie.”

“I’m not a zombie, I’m just tired. I’ve been studying for the SAT. ” Veronica tried to escape down the already deserted hallway, but Heather blocked her path.

“We both know that book hasn’t left your locker all week,” Veronica wasn’t sure how they both knew that, “Four of your friends have committed suicide this month, but they were my friends too. Don’t tell me that you’re okay, I know you can’t be.”

Heather was so earnest in her feelings, Veronica wished she could explain that it wasn’t grief so much as guilt that was plaguing her. Heather’s eyes were even softer than usual with concern. Veronica couldn’t talk to her friend about her classmates’ murders, but maybe she could talk about their deaths. 

Heather recognized the acknowledgment on Veronica’s face and continued with renewed optimism, “Let’s get milkshakes tonight, okay?”

Veronica nodded.

“Super! I’ll pick you up at 8:00.”

Veronica would have cringed at the idea of spending the evening at a crowded fast food joint, but she was surprised at the comfort she felt from the notion of being there with Heather.

 

Veronica was lying on the couch and contemplating the shapes made by the bumps in the ceiling. All of the amorphous blobs seemed to resemble the red scrunchie that hasn’t left her night stand since she dropped it there last week. She transferred her gaze to the clock. It was 8:05. She wondered if Heather had forgotten about their milkshake date. Or if she’d been invited to do something more enticing than sipping sugary drinks with a depressed killer. For one thing, Heather did love all things sweet. 

The doorbell rang. Veronica felt a mixture of reluctance and relief but she jumped to answer the door. Heather had put on heels and a skirt since school, and she had polished her makeup complete with fresh lipstick. With her blonde curls falling over her shoulders, Heather looked gorgeous as always. Veronica felt acutely aware of her own crumpled sweater, smudged eyeliner, and messy hair. She briefly wondered if Heather had orchestrated this contrast to make Veronica look bad before realizing that she was with the only Heather who wouldn’t do that; Heather McNamara just liked to look pretty. 

“Ready to get your shake on?” Veronica was surprised to find herself smiling at Heather’s enthusiasm, and she was surprised at how good it felt. That had to be the first time she’d broken her somber visage in the week since the pep rally.

This encouraged Heather and she practically skipped back to her car, with Veronica trailing at a much slower pace. Heather opened the passenger door for Veronica, but because of their discrepancy in energy, both doors closed at the same time.

Heather turned on the radio, but after the first two notes of “Teenage Suicide, Don’t Do It!” she hit the off button as urgently as if it was a hairy tarantula (although if it were, she would have screamed, which incidentally was her secondary reaction to the song). 

“Let’s just talk,” She said quickly.

“Yeah,” said Veronica, not a great start to Heather’s proposition.

After a few minutes of listening to Heather’s babble nervously about a math test, Veronica came to a realization.

“Where are we going?” She cut off Heather’s thought about the banality of parabolas. 

“Where else?” Heather beamed.

McBurger. Veronica felt sicker than usual at the thought of the burger joint Heather always wanted to go to after a long day of shopping, much to Heather’s chagrin (or more accurately, cha-pout). A hurricane churned in Veronica’s stomach as she pictured Heather Chandler drinking a Drano out of McBurger’s trademark yellow cups. Her eyes filled with horror and her face drained of color.

Heather saw this and gasped, “Oh my God, I’m so stupid, I’m sorry! I’m making everything worse-”

“No, it’s okay, really! We can just go somewhere else,” Veronica said quickly. 

Heather was quiet for a moment before exclaiming, “I know where we can go! Frosty’s! My grandpa used to take me there all the time when I was little, their shakes will make your heart burst!”

Veronica wondered if that was a symptom of happiness or undoubtably high cholesterol. She had never been there, which was odd considering the non-considerable size of Westerberg, but anywhere untainted with memories of Heather Chandler was welcoming to her.

“Sounds very,” She said.

After a few more minutes of chatter about the quadratic function, they arrived in front of a fifties style diner embellished with pink neon and checked tile.

Heather gazed lovingly at the retro decor, and swished her yellow skirt, reminiscent of the era. Despite her trendy fashion sense, Heather fit remarkably well into the anachronistic haven. She and the diner shared a certain warmth. 

Heather flounced up to the worn down waitress she called Sue, and ordered a strawberry milkshake. Veronica looked at the flavors written on the board: Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry, Caramel, and Cherry. Her eyes lingered on the last flavor for a few seconds before she ordered a chocolate shake. 

Heather lead Veronica to a booth and right after they sat down, Sue brought them their shakes.

“Doesn’t it feel like you’re drinking a hug?” Heather asked, watching Veronica’s mouth around the red and white striped straw.

“Sure, a nice, cold hug,” said Veronica. But she secretly thought that her heart may burst with happiness as well as cholesterol as she sipped the chocolate shake.

Heather graciously ignored her sarcasm. “But really, is being out of your house at least helping you stop thinking about… Them?”

Veronica didn’t think being in Disneyland could help her stop thinking about the people she’d helped kill, but she had to admit that this was the best she’d felt since the pep rally. 

“I guess,” Veronica concisely summarized.

Heather put her hand on Veronica’s and the air around her got warmer. 

“Yeah, me too,” Heather seemed to understand Veronica’s answer better than she did herself. She looked down at the speckled tabletop as if it held the answer to her life’s problems.

“I feel terrible. I’m sad they died but sometimes… I have trouble forgiving them for the way they treated me, even though I know it was because they were tormented and-”

“No.” Said Veronica, “No one had any right to treat you that way.”

Heather’s eyes widened from the certainty in Veronica’s voice. Veronica realized that she had been so deep in her own shit that she hadn’t noticed that Heather was buried in it. For fuck’s sake, she had tried to kill herself too. Veronica wished she could tell Heather that the only torment Heather faced was deciding which designer shoes looked best with her scrunchie. Veronica wished she could tell her that to her knowledge, Kurt and Ram were disgusting hetero pigs. She wished Heather could know that  _ she _ was the only one who should bear any guilt.

“Heather, Heather has treated you like her red, silk doormat for years, and Ram fucking  _ assaulted _ you. You are under no obligation to forgive them. Ever.” 

“But that’s not fair,” Heather protested, “they have no chance to redeem themselves now.”

Thanks to Veronica. Even after killing four people, the worst thing Veronica had done was force Heather into forgiveness.

“Everyone who dies doesn’t get a free pass for all the shit they pulled when they were alive,” said Veronica, “You don’t owe them anything.”

Heather looked at Veronica with heavy brown eyes lightened with her friend’s support. After weeks of carrying the weight of Heather and Ram’s abuse on her shoulders (which were unfortunately only padded in the literal sense), Heather could at least breath without tasting draino and a course of “Shut up, Heather!”. 

“Thank you, Veronica,” said Heather, taking her hand, “I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

Veronica smiled. Maybe she could atone for her sins by becoming Westerberg’s resident grief counselor. Except that she never wanted to speak to anyone from those brimstone paved hallways again. 

“It’s the least I can do,” Veronica paused, “Trust me.”

Heather frowned, taking her hand away, “Why are you so nice to me? After all we put you through… I know it isn’t easy being friends with us.”

“You’re not wrong, I had to kill Heather to manage,” Veronica didn’t say.

“It was easier being friends with you. You were always… nice.” Veronica was surprised to find that she meant it. 

“God, you can’t still think it’s easy to be friends with me!” Heather laughed, “I mean look at me,” Veronica looked at her perfect hair and makeup, her mascara unmarred from the tears building up behind her eyes, “I’m a mess!”

“Heather, not to invalidate your problems or anything, but you literally always look perfect,” Veronica asserted.

“I know how to use waterproof mascara, but that doesn’t mean I know how to survive high school!” Heather practically sobbed, “I mean look at us! I brought you here to make you feel better and you’re the one who’s comforting me! Shit, I’m just making it worse now,” she tried and failed to discreetly wipe away a tear.

Veronica took heather’s hand back, “Hey, you are making me feel better; if it wasn’t for you I’d be writing teen angst bullshit in my diary right now. Shit, you got me out of my house, which I haven’t managed all week!” Veronica offered a kind smile which Heather  cautiously returned.

Veronica frowned, “We can help each other through this,”

“Yeah, okay,” 

Veronica squeezed Heather’s hand before letting it go. 

Heather looked at the stars beginning to appear in the sky. 

“I guess we should get back,” Heather said without much commitment.

“Yeah,” 

The girls got up in a dream and sleepwalked to Heather’s car; the real world was too loud and bright for either of them at the time. The sky darkened quicker than one would expect but it was filled with twinkling bits of light and a gleaming moon.

The drive home was quiet. Neither Heather nor Veronica said anything until Heather pulled in front of Veronica’s house. 

The sat in the car for a moment, then as Veronica reached to open her door, Heather leaned over to hug her. She was so warm and light, Veronica thought, like a bird. 

“Thank you,” Heather whispered into Veronica’s still messy hair.

“Yeah,” said Veronica, clambering uncertainty for the door.

“Goodnight,” said Veronica from her front lawn.

“Goodnight,”

Heather stayed in park until she heard Veronica’s front door close.

 

Veronica sat in her room with a pen and her diary in hand, but she didn’t have words flooding her head as they usually did. She guessed that she was so used to things continuously getting worse that she wasn’t sure how to write about the alternative. 

“Dear Diary,” she started, “instead of literally lighting myself on fire, I may settle for spending August in Texas, thanks entirely to Heather McNamara. I’m not sure which part of that sentence is more surprising. Who I thought was the shallowest person I knew may be my closest friend, which in itself is nothing new, but the odd thing is that it may be a good thing this time.”

Veronica closed her diary and lied down on her bed. She knew the sheets were clean and the blanket was warm, but she felt like she was sleeping on an icy bench in Central Park. Who was she kidding? The birds weren’t going to fucking sing because she and Heather could cry and sing kumbaya together-- she had killed four people, her life was never going to resemble anything normal again. 

She turned over and her pillow seemed to become a little softer. Still, having a friend who cared about her couldn’t make her life any worse.


End file.
